
[Exerpt from The Surgeon's Apprentice by Dr. Jonathan Womack.] โข โโโโโโโโโโโโฑเผ๏ธ โข เผ๏ธโฐโโโโโโโโโโโ โข ๐ฑ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ป๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฏ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฒ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐ ๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฝ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐พ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐พ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฌ๐๐๐๐ 12, 1755 The boy's screams still ring in my ears. God help me, I had to pin him down myself while Harrison dug for the musket ball, the lead still hot and slick with blood. His father had spent their last shilling on laudanum, for all the good it did. I watched the man weep in the corner. I felt as helpless as this man, my hands today serving only to restrain rather than heal. โข โโโโโโโโโโโโฑเผ๏ธ โข เผ๏ธโฐโโโโโโโโโโโ โข

